


Dance on the Water

by cosmicallybrownie



Category: Satan and Me (Webcomic)
Genre: One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:32:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7690015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicallybrownie/pseuds/cosmicallybrownie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dancing is the only time Anthea truly feels free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance on the Water

Anthea dances to forget. She could part seas with her tranquil movements, the rough crashing ceasing under the gentle touch of a woman who knows to fear going too deep. The cool waters soothe the burns that Hell scorched on her body and her abused skin softens. The black scars linger on her limbs and crawl up her back. Her smooth motions spiral and spin and she is the calm in the storm; the black handprints do not show. She paints her lips bright colors and swallows the dark words that threaten to make a puppet out of her. The thoughts of burning are buried beneath the tinkling melody of the jewels she wraps her body in, but she never forgets the feeling of the hands branding scars into her skin. She belongs to Hell.

Anthea dances for redemption. Her movements are slow, like blood quietly pooling out of a poorly closed wound. Her bones ache and the motions weep. Grief rolls off her in waves, crashing into an ocean of uncertainty. She dips her head in the water and come up with her chest heaving, a hollow urgency blossoming inside her. She has to move. Emptiness rattles vacantly around her wrists and ankles, shackling her without purpose, and stirring a heavy melody that tastes of metal and fire. The chains throw her down. She drowns in blood and chokes on her own fear, yet her movements are still sharp and crisp. Her body is under her own command.

Anthea dances for herself. She weaves a universe in the twirling of her hips and in the smooth movements of her arms. Stars cannot outshine her. Cradling herself in safety, she marks herself as untouchable. A sheer piece of fabric is her blanket that cloaks her in comfort. For once, she feels secure, warm in the soft glow she stirs out of gauzy cloth. Some days she would even choose the cheap fabric over the cloud-soft robes of Heaven. It moves with her. She slips into the dance, following the song like a barefoot child chasing after a gentle stream. Stepping into the cool water, she does not get wet. She dances, her feet skimming the surface of the water, splashing it up around her. Peace roots in her soul.

Anthea dances to create her own personal Heaven. There are no second chances among the clouds, and grudges last longer than the reign of man. Forgiveness is absent where forgiveness should live. So she cleaves into the shadows of the broken, and stitches her skin back together. It is tight and rigid, like an ill-fitting mask, but she wears it and dances. The stitches loosen and stretch in the areas she needs them to, and slowly the patchwork becomes a home. It is imperfect. She has to fix popped stitches, but each knot she ties more securely than the previous. She learns the best and the worst of herself. Pulling the threads tight to hide the emotions that threaten to come toppling out, she constrains the ugliness. Hiccups of black pool between the sutures reminding her who she belongs to, but she blocks them out. She is deaf to the screams. Pouring water over her delicate skin, she works it into the cracks until no black is poking through, and everything is muted gray. The voices are no longer welcome.

The oceans spills from her bosom, washing the dirty faces and hands of the figures that haunt her. Their burning hot hands are submerged in her waters and extinguished before they can do harm. She holds their faces under until they breathe in her still waters and their thrashing stops. Anthea will wear no more scars.

Anthea dances like fire on the water. Waves rise and fall with the heaving of her chest and crisp motions of her hands. The water follows her willingly, playing with the flames of her soul like reunited friends from a past life. She glides weightlessly on the water. Echoes of her footsteps ring out like raindrops, singing in harmony with the bells on her body. Her painted lips part and her sorrows pour out in a cathartic lament, streaking the clear waters with dark blues and electric purples. The rich mix of colors resonates with a broken piece inside her and she is swept under. The water lights around her.

She gasps and claws upward but the surface is smooth, like it’s made of glass. Anthea stares up at herself in a mirror. The glowing colors paint a landscape across her face, and she breathes in the artwork. Beauty fills her lungs and she smiles easily, amazed by the tranquility. Her fingers trace the outline of her face, wondering with wide eyes why she was ever afraid to dance on the waters. She is water. Her hair floats around her face, and she presses both her hands against the mirror and she rises above the surface. Her dress floats around her like it was never wet, soft against her skin as she lifts her arms and begins to twirl. The water moves with her.  

Anthea dances like she is unafraid to fall. Her toes skim the surface of the water, but hardly touch. The water treasures her, revering her like the angel she once was. On the surface, she feels like the angel she should still be, walking on water as easily as she once walked on clouds. The breeze tastes like sugar spun with sea air, and it skirts across her waters. She watches s leaf from a tree blow off and skate on her waters, as light as children’s boats laid carefully to float away. Turtles splash, leaving trails of joy in their wakes. A bird startles from a tree overhanging the water, and an imperfect feather falls as a reminder. It is light in her hands, crooked and ugly but hers. She has created life.

Anthea makes her own home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> This fic and all others can be found on my tumblr account under my writing tag  
> cosmicallybrownie.tumblr.com/tagged/hot-off-the-presses


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